Tag Archives: poets

Blood Bond

From my pen flows the music of the heart
Red like my blood
Dipped back into my vessel of life so I may create
The muse has come again rapping at my vital organ
Filling me with compulsion to stain the page again
I slit my figurative wrist so that my life force stains
The bleached parchment of a dead tree, with everlasting life, renewed
My words avenge thee so you have not died in vain
What my words cannot mend, may it instead act as artificial limb
Giving balance to your pain
The sorrow of your long lost brothers and sisters, reflected in the anguished scream of your empty page, now give my pen eternal life!
Our blood ritual bonds us as one, signed with a sacrament of bearing ones soul
Once my life has come to cease, buried in my whole.
My body shall decomposed from which a sibling can grow full
The brother shall stand tall until his pride causes him to be deceased
And another similar to me, shall use his sacrifice to come into being

Life on the Inside

The daily drudgery leaves me mentally castigated
I walk down the empty corridor alone, seeking more
Other prisoners pass me, vacuous automatons just getting by
A commotion stirs and the guards go by
Who will be removed from general populous now?
Time slowly fades into oblivion, I’m aged, greying
My youth escaping like grains within an hour glass
The only thing I’m a grandpa of is isolation
Confined to my cell, my life has lost all comfort
I work for nothing and have nothing to give
The food is nothing to write home about, blandness cardboard ad naseum
I imbibe the words of Shakespeare
So oft have I invoked thee for my muse
I will never replace all that I have lost
Precious moments of a youth gone array
What could I have done differently? Where did it all go wrong?
The sound of the clock is Deathining
Like the reapers scythe slowly ticking down to my execution
I walk the long, grey hallway back to my cell
To have a daily meditation before bed
The thoughts pour into my mind
Racing around like a stock car
I recite a prayer for those like me
In hopes they find the absolution that may never come
My head touches the coldness of the pillow
A precursor to my eventual grave stone
I tighten my eyes and pull my legs in tight
Waiting for the day
Should I be fortunate to wake
And see another day
I’ll be thankful I’m a prisoner of the outside
With another chance to be